


Under Siege

by cthulhu_is_chaotic_good



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Gen, Reluctant Allies?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27424819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cthulhu_is_chaotic_good/pseuds/cthulhu_is_chaotic_good
Summary: Alex and Yassen have never been on the same side. Yet when they both find themselves trapped in a hotel besieged by armed terrorists it occurs to Alex that, at least for the moment, they may not be on opposite sides either.
Comments: 99
Kudos: 166





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Assiégés (traduction de 'Under Siege')](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27739705) by [guepard54](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guepard54/pseuds/guepard54)



Alex was starting to lose track of just how often MI6 thought he would be a useful part of a mission, and just how often he was attached to a mission so an adult agent would be above suspicion.

This particular operation was definitely the latter.

The agent with Alex hadn’t even told Alex his real name – as far as Alex was concerned, the older agent was named Christopher Pastor, the same as his cover.

For the duration of this trip Christopher Pastor was a forty-five-year-old banker, and Alex was Alex Pastor, his son. According to what they’d told the businessman traveling next to them on the plane ride to Riyadh, Alex was tagging along on his dad’s business trip because it was a school break and Alex’s mum wasn’t in the picture.

As if the cover of an agent who was a boring banker didn’t already resemble what Ian had told Alex almost his entire life a little too closely, MI6 had gone the extra mile to copy Alex’s life. They’d borrowed almost every detail of Alex Rider’s life until a year ago to put into the cover that Alex had to memorize before the trip. Alex Pastor was 15, he liked football, he lived in the same neighborhood as Alex, and he’d even vacationed in the same places as Ian had taken Alex in the past few years.

MI6 was either lazy or they were worried Alex couldn’t memorize the cover in the two days they’d provided him.

Not that Alex was complaining. Mrs. Jones had promised that this would be akin to a vacation for Alex. She’d used the words “stay out of trouble and enjoy the sun,” and Alex intended to follow those directions. The moment after they’d checked into the hotel two nights ago, Alex had gone to the indoor pool to relax, and since then he couldn’t say he’d spent a minute doing anything that could be considered ‘work’.

Honestly, considering how garishly opulent the rooms they were staying in were, Alex might almost miss the hotel once they left this afternoon. Jack would be jealous once he told her about the Olympic regulation sized pool. And, Alex thought with just a hint of satisfaction, Jack certainly wouldn’t cry when Alex mentioned the amount of _incredibly expensive_ food that he’d ordered from room service at two in the morning, all paid for by the government.

All that was left of their trip was the actual deal that the older agent was pursuing with the Saudi government. No one had told Alex the details, but from what he’d overheard outside Mrs. Jones office, they were there to procure an intelligence exchange. But that was outside Alex’s assignment. His goal right now was to take his packed suitcase down to the lobby before the hour was up. The older agent had warned Alex that he might be waiting a while after that, as the Saudi’s were notoriously late, even to matters such as these.

Alex wasn’t bothered – he had his switch, loaded with the most recent update of Animal Crossing. And the vast lobby included a coffee area where Alex could sit and order a cup of tea or a Coke.

If the rest of the mission was truly as simple as ‘wait a few hours in a fancy lobby, then go home,’ Alex would be happy.

The lift doors opened on the lobby, and Alex’s heart sank.

The rest of the mission would _not_ be as simple as that.

Yassen, for his part, appeared extraordinarily unsurprised to see Alex standing in the doorway of the lift in the same hotel lobby that he was standing in.

“Getting out?” the man waiting for the lift asked.

“No,” Alex said, thinking fast. “Sorry, I realize, I just left something upstairs.”

The man shrugged and entered the lift. “Floor thirty-four.”

Alex pressed the button for the man’s floor first, and then for the third floor. If he remembered what his partner had said correctly, the man would be in a room off the large conference hall where the banking convention that was their cover was being held. And the conference was being held, according to signs Alex had seen posted all over the lobby when they’d arrived a couple days ago, on the third floor.

What did Alex know? His thoughts raced. Yassen hadn’t been alone, if Alex was judging correctly. There had been a group of men in suits standing together, and there had been four, maybe five, in the group. Yassen had been holding a small suitcase, and least one of the men in his group appeared to have a briefcase with him.

Yassen would be armed. The other men – possibly they would be as well.

They weren’t with SCORPIA. At least, not according to what Alex had heard last, when he’d tried to track Yassen down just after returning from Australia, a rumor from Ash stuck in his mind.

The truth was that Alex didn’t know nearly enough.

He knew enough to know that something was deeply wrong.

The lift stopped, this time at the third floor. Alex stepped out, holding his suitcase with him, into a small foyer. The large archway at the other end of the foyer opened into a massive and open conference hall. Alex walked towards it, ignoring the strange looks sent his way by a group of men standing by the doorway.

The conference room was massive, and there were at least a hundred people inside, mostly seating in the rows of seats looking up at the front where a speaker was lecturing on stocks. But his brief survey of the room didn’t reveal who Alex was looking for.

On the walls around the open space, there were at least 15 doors leading into smaller rooms. Alex headed towards the first one and peered inside. It was empty.

“Sir?” A tall man who appeared to be with the hotel approached him. “Sir, do you have a badge showing that you are a part of this convention?”

“No, but my dad does. I need to find him. There’s an emergency.”

“You can be helped at the front desk. Do you need someone to walk you there?”

“No, I need to find my dad. Now, it’s urgent!”

People in the rows closest to Alex were starting to peer his way, bemused. Alex leaned down and dropped his suitcase. Whatever was about to happen, Alex couldn’t let it occur. Which meant he couldn’t allow himself to be walked back to the lobby as if everything was fine.

“Something’s wrong,” Alex tried. “There’s someone here who shouldn’t be.”

“In this room?”

“In the hotel.”

“I understand. If you come downstairs, we can sort it out.”

It was useless! They would never believe him. Not in time. And what could he say, without blowing his cover? How would a banker’s son recognize Yassen Gregorovich?

“I’m sorry,” Alex said. And then he kicked the man in an area he wouldn’t envy, as hard as he could.

“Son!” someone called, angry. At the podium, the speaker stopped, staring at him, and around the room men started to turn to see what the commotion was about.

Alex took a step back and raised his hands in the air in surrender. “I need to find my dad!” he called. “There’s been a family emergency, and I need to find my dad!”

“Alex?”

The older agent was in the doorway of one of the conference rooms, across the hall. Alex took off between the rows of chairs, pushing past a few men and ignoring the many faces – confused, annoyed, perhaps a couple even frightened – watching him.

“Sorry!” Alex said as he got closer to his partner.

“What are you doing?”

“Can we go in the room? I need to tell you something.”

The older agent stepped back inside the room he was in, and Alex followed, closing the door behind him.

Inside the room, a strict looking Saudi man was sitting across a long table. He peered at Alex a computer screen.

Fuck.

Alex could hardly just announce that he had recognized a hit man in the lobby who used to work for SCORPIA – he didn’t know what this man knew! Maybe they knew Alex and his partner were MI6, but if the man didn’t, both Alex and his ‘father’ could end up imprisoned.

“Something’s wrong,” Alex said instead, keeping it vague.

“What happened?”

There was a loud knock at the door to their room.

“Don’t – “ Alex tried to say, before the door flew open and another man with a name badge from the hotel walked in.

“I’m sorry,” Alex said, before the hotel worker could say anything. “It was an emergency. It won’t happen again.”

“You both need to come with me.”

“I have a meeting here in twenty minutes,” the older agent protested. “If you need me to pay a fine, I can when I check out.”

“This is more than a fine!”

“Go with them.” It was the man at the end of the table. He spoke softly, but they could hear him clearly enough in the nearly empty room. “Make it quick.”

“No, you don’t understand. There’s someone here who shouldn’t be here – maybe a whole group of people.” Desperate, Alex looked to the worker. “Have your security double check the people entering the hotel, and everyone who entered the hotel in the past 30 minutes! I think something’s wrong.”

The worker scowled. “You will both follow me.”

Alex’s partner put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Come along, son. We need to go figure out what’s happening.”

Knowing they wouldn’t listen, Alex followed them into out into the conference hall. The speaker was once again lecturing on volatile markets to an audience entirely of men in black and grey business suits.

The man Alex had kicked was nowhere to be seen.

In the doorway to the conference hall, Yassen and three other men were entering the room. Desperate, Alex tried to dig in his heels, but his ‘father’ only pushed him forward.

“You don’t understand,” he started again.

And was promptly interrupted by the sound of not-too-distant gunfire.

There was a moment of complete quiet as the room was still, listening. Across the room, Yassen glanced behind him in the direction of the shots, and then strode forward again, followed by the three men with him.

And then the room erupted into disordered panic.

Alex used the moment to wrench himself free of his partner. He started in the direction of Yassen. “Alex!” he heard the agent behind him call as he tried to force himself between the row of chairs while dodging fleeing businessmen.

The sounds of gunfire had come from the direction of the lift and the stairs. Yassen was moving away from there, towards the rooms at the back of the conference hall. Most of the businessmen were focused on the area nearer to themselves, trying to get into the closest possible conference rooms before the doors slammed shut on them.

“Get down!” someone shouted.

And then there another series of gunshots, this time close.

Alex whirled around, ducking behind a concessions table as he did so.

At the front of the room were _at least_ twenty men, all armed, and only half wearing masks over their faces.

“Get on the floor,” a man at the front of the group yelled into the room. Across the room, immediately, the bankers and financial experts who had been attending the conference and unlucky enough not to reach a room began to kneel or lay down.

Alex turned, still hiding behind the table, to see Yassen and men with him stop in their tracks and begin to kneel as well. Yassen glanced at Alex for only a second, his calm blue eyes taking in Alex, before turning back to the armed men at the front of the room.

“If you are in a room, open the door and come out,” the speaker from before continued. “Ten.”

Alex pressed himself against the wall, making sure his entire body was behind the white tablecloth that covered the table with refreshments. Alex hesitated, then started to peer around the table.

Yassen, not looking at Alex, gave a slight shake of his head.

The message may not have been for Alex, but Alex was inclined to take the advice anyway. He stopped his attempt to look at what was happening.

“Nine. Eight. Seven.”

In the eerie quiet of the room, Alex heard loud, deliberate footsteps getting closer to him.

“Six.”

The footsteps stopped.

“Five.”

Alex saw a door on the other side of the room open, a single, terrified man in the doorway.

“Four. Three. Two.”

There was no one – only a single shot and a chorus muffled screams and gasps.

There was a thud as someone fell to the ground.

“Do not make us wait. Or more will die.”

A sudden series of shots broke through the room. This time, only two or three men gasped. It wasn’t another killing, Alex surmised.

“We can open all of the doors if we need. Open it for us – make it better for yourselves.”

The minutes passed second by second – Alex heard more and more men walking around the room, banging on doors, shooting through the doors, and eventually, opening the doors.

There was no warning that they were about to find him other than the soft sounds of a lighter walker approaching Alex. Alex tensed. An armed man walked beside him, paused, and then looked down at him. He turned and shouted something in Arabic towards the men.

Another man came and hauled Alex to his feet. “Who is with him?” the man called out, gruffly.

Alex’s partner was lying on the floor perhaps ten meters back. He raised an arm, slowly. “He’s my son.”

“Go sit with your dad.” The arms holding Alex up pushed him back towards the older agent. Alex put his arms out to catch himself as he fell.

“Stay down,” his partner whispered to him.

Alex did.

It was hard to tell from his position lying on the floor what was happening around the room in its entirety, but Alex could see enough. The armed men were going around, grabbing bankers and rifling through their belongings. The armed men would stop when they reached some form of identification, take the ID, and move on to the next person.

The language divide around the room was clear – the bankers, clearly from different countries, were stammering in English and other languages to the armed men, and the armed men were shooting back harsh commands almost exclusively in Arabic.

Alex turned to head to watch the nearest approaching terrorist. The masked man stopped in front of Alex and his partner and held out an open palm, while aiming a Glock 17 in their direction. Cautiously, the adult agent sat up and reached for his wallet. He pulled out his driver’s license and handed it over. The masked man took it wordlessly and walked on, towards Yassen and his group.

Alex placed both palms on the ground softly and lifted himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the panicked whisper from his partner. He turned and looked again at Yassen.

The language barrier may have affected many, but it didn’t affect Yassen’s group. In a quiet voice that only carried because of the unnatural stillness of the room, Yassen said a few words in Arabic to the masked man. The man replied, and Yassen reached for his own wallet while saying something that from what little Alex could hear, now sounded to be in Russian. The men with Yassen began to shift and pull out identification as well.

The masked men took all their IDs from the men and moved on, after a few more words in Arabic with Yassen.

By Alex’s watch, it took only 8 more minutes for IDs to be gathered. Although a few masked men were standing around the room, brandishing assorted handguns and rifles towards everyone on the ground, most of the terrorists were now meeting at the front, having a loud discussion in Arabic. It continued for only a minute before their representative spoke again.

“We are putting you in rooms. You will not resist. If we take you of the room, you will not resist. If you resist, you will die.” The man coughed a few times, clearing his throat. “We are here because our government is allowing a prisoner of the state, a prince and a traitor, to be freed. Some of you here are a part of it. If you are not, do not worry. Do not resist, do not fight. We want no harm to come to you.”

The terrorists began to walk to the men around the room and prod them with weapons until they were filed into assorted rooms. Alex and his partner, towards the back of the hall, were one of the last to be directed towards a room.

His partner clutching him by the arm, Alex was walked into the room they were directed towards.

“Here,” his partner muttered, walking them into the room’s furthest corner.

Inside the room was a miniature conference hall – there were five rows of ten chairs facing the front of the room, where a presenter’s table and five chairs sat. A podium stood off to the side of the table. A projector set into the middle of the ceiling was currently projecting the title of the banking conference onto the wall behind the presenter’s table. There were no windows in the room, but on the far wall was a long, thin table set with two baskets of fruit and prepackaged snacks. A plugged-in espresso machine took up the rest of the table.

Alex’s partner sat them in two chairs in the back corner shared with the wall connecting the room to the conference hall. Alex sat while staring at the door.

A minute later, after seven men Alex hadn’t paid any mind to were walked into the room, Yassen and his group entered the room, led by the largest of the seemingly Russian men that Yassen was with. They took the seats closest to the snack table.

Alex’s partner put an arm around Alex’s shoulders and squeezed, tight. “It’s going to be alright,” he whispered.

Alex ignored the reassurance, lost in his own thoughts. Was Yassen connected to this? If he was, he had a strange way of showing it. While Yassen didn’t look afraid – Alex had a suspicion it took a lot more than a few terrorists who barely seemed to understand how a gun operated to terrify Yassen – he also wasn’t trying anything dangerous. He wasn’t standing with them, coldly giving orders.

No, Alex thought. Whatever Yassen was after, he had his own goals, separate from the armed terrorists who were now holding them here.

The unmasked man who had just forced the Russians into the room now stood at the doorway, glaring inside. With a strange pang, Alex realized that unmasked terrorist didn’t look much older than himself – maybe the other boy was nineteen, but he couldn’t have been much older.

Time passed. Inside the room there was quiet except for the occasional sounds of people moving around in the hall outside the room.

And then the representative of the terrorists – or at least the one who had been speaking for them – entered the room, along with three other armed men. He was holding two IDs. One of them, Alex noticed with horror, was immediately recognizable as a British driver’s license.

The speaker gestured towards a man who was sitting against the wall. “You are Pierre DuPont?”

“Yes,” the frightened man responded.

The terrorist said something in Arabic, and two of his accomplices strode forward to grab the man. They hauled him to his feet and out into the hall.

And then the terrorist’s eyes fell onto Alex’s partner.

“You are Christopher Pastor?”

“Yes. Should I go with you?”

The man waved forward with his gun, and the older agent stood.

“Him too,” the terrorist said, pointing to Alex. The other man that had entered the room with him started to walk towards the agents.

“No. My son stays out of this.”

“Do not fight,” the terrorist warned.

Across the room, Yassen said something, quietly, in Arabic. The leader turned towards him and frowned, while his minion pointed his gun at Alex.

Yassen spoke again. He nodded at Alex.

Alex’s heart jumped into his throat. What would Yassen say? Yassen, at this point, had to know that Alex and his partner were the representatives of MI6 that these men were looking for.

The minion pointing a gun at Alex lowered it and looked at his leader hesitantly.

“Alright,” the leader said, after a moment. “Your son stays here. But you will come with us.”

The older agent cast a worried look at Alex and then followed the terrorists out of the room.

The young, unmasked man with a gun looked around the room a final time and then followed his group, closing the door behind him.

Inside the room, a couple of men let out gasps. Another man began to say a prayer.

Yassen turned to his men and began to speak in rapid Russian.

Alex crossed his arms and shivered. He could feel the goosebumps on his arms.

_This wasn’t how today was supposed to go._

It wasn’t much longer when a muffled sound emerged through the closed door – the muffled sound of Beethoven, if Alex was remembering his music classes from school correctly. And then the volume began to increase. And get louder again. And again.

Whatever stereo system was being used outside in the hall, it’s volume must have been maxed out.

Alex remembered what he’d learned from Malagosto – music could be used to break someone. Was that what was happening? Were they going to be locked in a hostage situation while the Saudi military or police was called in, and all the while their captors would be keeping them up with earsplitting music?

If it was their technique, Alex decided, it wouldn’t be as effective as hoped. It was still early afternoon – most of the people at the conference wouldn’t be tired yet. Meanwhile, the terrorists in the hall would hear the music louder than those of them in the rooms off the hall, with closed doors between them and the source of the music!

Alex looked over to see Yassen looking at him.

Yassen was frowning.

Why? Yassen had to know this music wouldn’t be enough to break anyone here, let alone Alex. He’d gone through much worse in the past year than loud music.

Alex shifted, uncomfortable in the man’s gaze.

And then he heard it.

Outside the door, below the sound of the music, someone was screaming.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I’ve set a couple of stories in the Middle East now, and I’d like to include a general note for why I set this story in Saudi Arabia, as opposed to, say, China, the United States, or anywhere else. 
> 
> The first reason is that this story takes heavy influence from several real events that took place between the 1990s-2018 in India, Saudi Arabia, and Mali, among other instances in other countries.
> 
> The second reason is that Saudi Arabia is a nation with a history of heavy ties to the United Kingdom, and it was plausible that a deal could be worked out between their intelligence services.
> 
> And the final reason relates purely to the fact that I have had more life experiences in the Middle East than in some other regions of the world.
> 
> If anyone is interested in some of the events I loosely based the setting of this story on, ask in the comments and I will gladly share.

\--

“Oh Jesus,” a banker said. The man was sitting in a chair in the front row, and he twisted around to look at everyone.

Except for the group of men with Yassen and Yassen himself, there was visible fear on the faces of the men in the room. One man was chanting something under his breath while another banker had his head in his hands. Yassen’s group, in contrast, appeared alert and strangely unbothered by the loud music barely muffling the sound of screams.

Alex hadn’t had any doubts that the men with Yassen were also up to no good, and their neutral reaction to the torture outside the room proved it. These men weren’t civilians.

The music lasted a long time.

The screaming lasted almost as long.

For what felt like ages, Alex switched between keeping a watchful eye on the door and glancing around the room, and tried to ignore the screaming and his own fears.

There was little to distract him. At one point Yassen and his men pulled the chairs they were sitting in out of the rows facing the front of the room into a half circle facing the door. A couple of the bankers moved to the row Alex was in at the back of the room.

Eventually the screaming stopped, not for the first time.

It was only when the music stopped that Alex began to believe something was different.

“Something must have happened,” someone said. No one else responded.

Alex shivered.

When had the room gotten so cold?

No one else in the room appeared chilled, but they were all wearing suits – even the group of Russians by the snack table. All Alex had was a flimsy t-shirt and jeans. How cold would the room get before it was almost unbearable?

The door opened, and the young man with a gun appeared. He looked inside for just a moment, and looked ready to step out again when Alex had an idea.

He raised a hand, calling out simultaneously. “Hey!”

When the young man in the doorway hesitating, looking at him, Alex continued. “I need to use the restroom.”

The young man said something to the room in Arabic. After a pause, Yassen answered.

Uncertainly, the young man waved Alex forward with one hand, while another aimed a handgun at the others in the room. When Alex reached the door, the gun switched to being pointed at him. Alex raised both hands in surrender as he led the way out of the room.

The same eerie silence as before filled the conference hall. As he was nudged forward in the direction of the archway to the lifts, Alex snuck a glance at the front of the hall. Five armed men stood at the front, posed like military men. A small group of the bankers were kneeling with their hands behind their heads in a prisoner of war pose. A bald banker was bareheaded and Alex saw a dark splash of red trailing between the hands on his head and down the back of his scalp onto his neck.

With the men turned away it was too difficult to tell if any of the men were Alex’s partner.

Once in the foyer outside the hall, Alex was pushed, hard, in the direction of the lifts. Alex stumbled to a stop. Across the foyer another man was aiming a gun towards Alex. The man gestured with his rifle towards Alex’s right, directly across from the lifts.

Alex spotted the door to the restroom. “Can I go in?” Alex asked.

“Now!” the man said.

It wasn’t as cold in the restroom. As he washed his hands and lingered in the relative warmth, Alex surveyed the area outside the stalls. There wasn’t anything in the room besides towels that wasn’t a part of the room. There were no vents large enough to crawl through.

He would have taken a towel for warmth if he wasn’t worried that any strange action would lead to him getting shot.

A loud rapping outside the restroom urged him out, and the young man marched him back to the room.

Alex breathed a sigh of relief when he was back in the same room. It hadn’t occurred to him until he’d reached the restroom that he might not be brought back to the room he’d left from – and who knew what Yassen would be up to, without direct line of sight on the man? Alex wasn’t even sure what the man was doing when he could watch him.

The young man in the doorway kept his gun aimed at Alex until he took the same seat as before in the back corner. Then the young man left, slamming the door on the way out.

Time passed in an almost dream-like fashion. No one except Yassen’s group were speaking, and them only rarely. When they did speak, muttering Russian lowly to one another, it was in short bursts.

The same young man with the gun came back to the room a few times to check that things were still. Each time, at least one of the bankers or Russians would say that they too needed the restroom and would be escorted out after a quick translation from Yassen. After a while, the young man must have given up on running in and out of the room, and he took a seat behind the presenter’s table at the front of the room, with the door to the hall closed.

Alex had no idea what was happening in the outside world. There were no windows in the room to peer out from, and they hadn’t heard any noise from outside the room since the music had stopped. Alex wasn’t even sure what was happening in the conference hall, let alone the rest of the hotel. Had the guests outside of this area been evacuated? Was the Saudi military outside the hotel now, readying themselves to charge in, or were negotiations underway?

Alex checked his watch. Six hours had passed. It felt like more. He was cold. He was hungry. He was tired. He was also, right now, hopelessly outnumbered.

He hugged his arms to his body, trying to warm up. Technically, he could fix one of his complaints. Maybe two, if the espresso machine worked.

The young man’s attention was on Alex from the moment he stood up.

Alex crossed the room slowly, keeping his eyes on the young man the entire time. When he reached the snack table he stopped.

“Does the machine work?”

One of the Russian men, the only one with a beard, stood wordlessly and walked to the machine. Alex followed, aware that Yassen was watching him closely.

The Russian grabbed a coffee pod from the basket on the table and placed it in the machine before fiddling with a few settings. He took an espresso cup from the table, flipped it right side up, put it under the machine, and pressed a button. The machine began to whir to life the moment the button was pressed.

“Thanks,” Alex said. He reached over and grabbed an apple and a bag of cashews from the table.

Behind the table, the young man glowered, but didn’t say anything.

The espresso machine shot a stream of black coffee into the cup, and the Russian handed it to Alex.

Alex took a tentative sip of the espresso, making a face as he realized how hot the liquid was. At least it was a break from the chilliness of the room.

The young man barked something from the front. “Boy, sit down!” One of the bankers said, desperation in his voice.

Behind Alex, Yassen said a few words in Russian.

The man who’d worked the espresso machine put a hand on Alex’s forearm, turned him around, and walked him forward two steps to the row nearest the semi-circle of chairs where the Russians were sitting. “Sit here.”

Alex took a seat and carefully put the cup down on the chair next to him. He ripped open the bag of cashews.

The sound would have been unnoticeable if the room hadn’t been so otherwise soundless. Alex almost winced. He wanted something to eat, not all the attention in the room on him.

Alex had finished his cashews and coffee and was biting into the apple when the door opened again, and the Frenchman who’d been taken – Pierre DuPont – staggered into the room and took a seat in the first available chair. The young man at the front of the room looked through the door after him for only an instant. The door shut.

There was a frozen moment where no one moved, and then the same bearded Russian who had made Alex coffee spoke. “What’s happening outside?”

There was no response. The Frenchman sagged in his seat. A banker stood from the back row and walked to the front of the room. When the banker reached the Frenchman, he crouched and whispered to the man. After a moment, the banker looked up and around the room. “Does anyone have medical training?”

There was a long enough pause that Alex thought no one would respond. And then Yassen asked, levelly, “What does he think is wrong?”

“He thinks he has a broken rib. Maybe two.”

“Can he laugh?” Alex surprised himself with the question. The banker who’d been examining the Frenchman stared at him.

The Frenchman made a small sound that may have been an attempt at a laugh. Towards the end it broke off into a vicious wheeze.

“No,” the banker said, pointlessly.

“It’s probably broken,” Alex said. “He needs to see a doctor.”

The Frenchman muttered under his breath.

“What did he say?” a banker asked from the back.

“He said, ‘it’s colder in here,’” the banker said.

“They lowered the temperature.” It made sense that the smaller room had gotten colder than the large conference hall, with three small vents in the room that Alex had spotted so far, but it seemed pointless to add that information on.

“Ask him what happened outside,” the Russian said again.

The two at the front had a whispered conversation. Then the banker reported, “They’re asking questions and hurting anyone who doesn’t answer. He thinks they’re looking for a person who was planning to take someone out of the country. It could have been a man with intelligence services.”

Alex bit his lip.

Behind the presenter’s table, there was a sudden change in the scene projected from the projector. Before it had been a screen presenting the title of the Banking Conference; now it was the blue scene that meant the projector awaited a new input device.

“They just unplugged a device or the screen went to sleep. Don’t worry,” reassured an obviously worried man to the room.

The blue screen flickered and disappeared, replaced by a crystal-clear image of the man Alex had kicked earlier kneeling on the floor of what appeared to be an identical room to the one they were all in. Behind the kneeling hotel employee was the terrorist who had been speaking earlier.

At the bottom of the screen there was a mouse icon hovering over a play button.

This was a video.

The banker who had been praying before began to chant again, under his breath.

Yassen muttered a sentence to the man beside him. The Russian pulled at an iPod and headphones from his jacket pocket and handed them to Yassen.

The video started. The first minute of the movie was silent. The kneeling man stared at the ground while the terrorist behind him stood in an oddly stiff manner. Then the terrorist spoke. “We know someone here is working to help a traitor leave our country. Confess, and we will spare your life. Tell us what we want to know about the traitors pretending to run our nation, and we will spare your life. We will stay until we have found you. And until we find you, we will do what we need to do.”

The speaker walked out of the frame. The hotel employee was motionless.

And then a gun fired off screen, and the employee crumpled to the ground, dead.

Amidst the reaction of the bankers in the room, Yassen stood calmly and crossed the few feet between himself and Alex. He moved the empty cup off the chair next to Alex and sat down.

Another hotel employee – this time the one who had been taking Alex downstairs when the terrorists had first burst into the hall earlier – walked onscreen. He was shaking and his hands were bound behind him. A masked and armed man followed him onto the screen.

“Put these in,” Yassen said, holding the headphones out to Alex.

“Why?” Alex asked, hesitant to trust Yassen.

On screen, the masked man forced the employee to his knees, inches away from where the employee’s colleague lay. Alex tensed, expecting another swift execution.

It wasn’t swift.

Alex knew a lot about death. He’d seen far too much of in the past months. One thing he knew was that if you were shot in the gut and didn’t die immediately, it could be a long and slow death without proper medical treatment.

Alex paled, listening to the man on screen beg and scream in agony as he bled out from the wound. And then the masked man began to kick the employee.

Yassen’s hand was still extended, offering up the headphones.

Alex rushed to put the earphones in his ears.

Yassen plugged the headphones into the iPod while Alex looked down at the floor. The song that began seconds later wasn’t one that Alex recognized – Alex rarely listened to trance music.

The man on screen was still alive the next three times Alex shot brief glances at the screen, although by the third time he looked Alex wasn’t sure the music was even necessary. The victim on screen was still on the floor, barely taking shallow breaths. On the fourth glance, the employee was dead.

When the next hotel employee - finally a man Alex didn’t recognize - was driven out from off screen, Yassen turned Alex’s chair around.

Afterwards, Alex couldn’t remember how long ago one of the Russians had draped their suit jacket over him. What he knew was that by the time Yassen stopped the music, he was still shivering despite the jacket, and his hands had been pressed over his ears for long enough to leave white imprints from the back of the earbuds on each.

“It’s done,” Yassen said, quietly.

Alex let out a shaky breath and looked up from his hands. In the rows behind him, he could see three of the bankers. Two were crying, and one looked sick. Alex took the headphones out and handed them to Yassen, then stood and turned his chair back around.

There was only the blue input screen on the wall at the front.

“Do you want your jacket back?” Alex asked the bearded Russian. When the man shook his head, Alex gratefully put the jacket on properly. It was several sizes too large but only a centimeter too long.

The room had just witnessed a series of awful murders – Alex could stand to be horrified without shivering from cold as well as fear.

“You’re taller,” Yassen murmured, after a moment.

Yeah, Jack had told him the same thing. Alex shifted. “What happened?”

“They ran out of hotel workers, I suspect.”

Alex felt a cold chill go down his spine. How many people had died already today because of MI6’s deal?

Yassen stood, iPod in one hand, and took Alex’s chair by the other. With Alex watching, Yassen moved the chair to the end of the semi-circle of Russians. The bearded man shifted to the new chair at the end.

Alex hesitated for only moment before taking a seat in the chair newly vacated by the bearded Russian. Yassen remained standing over his empty seat. Alex looked across the empty seat to the man who the iPod had come from. The man was cleanshaven, with brown hair and brown eyes. He could have been anyone. After that man was the fourth Russian – tall, broad shouldered, with small eyes.

The contrast between the group of Russians and the rest of the room was stark. The Frenchman was still slumped in his chair, barely moving. The rest of bankers were upset and afraid. As far as Alex could tell, Yassen’s group was not either of those things. Even the – Alex checked his watch – hourlong torture video hadn’t cracked their tough exteriors.

His partner still wasn’t back.

“Was it only the hotel employees in the video?” Alex asked.

“Yes.”

“It was filmed at least an hour ago,” the taller Russian man at the end said.

A lot could have happened since that time. A lot could have happened _during_ that time, only off screen or in a different room.

There hadn’t been music in the background of the video, from the minute Alex had seen before hiding himself behind the trance songs. Which meant the torture that had been not-so-subtly disguised by Beethoven before was different from the torture and execution in the video Alex had avoided watching.

Not long after the movie had ended, the door opened, and the terrorist who had spoken in the video walked in. The young man who had been watching the room trailed in behind him.

“You have all seen the video?” the speaker asked.

One man in the middle of the room glanced at Alex, but no one spoke.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.” The faint response, barely comprehensible, came from the slumped Frenchman.

“We have more hostages, yourselves included. Would anyone care to stop this all, and reveal themselves?”

“Do you want money?” A man at the back asked. “My government will pay. Release me and my government will pay!”

“Mine as well!” echoed another man.

“I do not want your money. Only the spy or spies who have entered my country illegally, breaking international sovereignty laws. Can anyone here claim to be one of those men?”

Alex was suddenly incredibly grateful that he was young. No one in this room who didn’t already know the truth would suspect the fourteen-year old, surely?

“Very well,” the man said. He looked at Yassen. “You speak Arabic?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“I’m a translator,” Yassen responded.

The man launched into a stream of Arabic. Yassen listened and then responded briefly. The speaker nodded and then departed. The young man looked around the room nervously and, after seeming to notice nothing amiss, left the same as the older man.

“What did he say?” a banker – the same one who had claimed his government had money first – demanded. The banker was wearing an expensive suit and a Rolex, Alex noticed.

“I will be free if I can provide information on the spy.”

The banker blanched. “You could lie!”

“I could.” Yassen took the empty seat next to Alex while glancing blandly back at the banker. “As it is, I told him I don’t know anything.”

“How much longer will this last?” the man who had been praying moaned.

The next two hours passed as slowly as the first six. Alex tracked every movement around the room during that time, needing every small distraction from the situation at hand. After a forever of quiet and still, the tallest Russian took some snacks from the table and put them under his chair. Following his lead, many of the bankers began to raid the snacks that had been left on the table. The Russian who could have fit in anywhere grabbed the rest when there were only a few bags of crisps and a couple oranges left. He handed an orange and a bag of potato crisps to the bearded Russian, a bag to Yassen, and then, to Alex’s surprise, the remaining crisps bag and orange to Alex.

The Rolex-wearing-banker shot a nasty look at Alex.

Several of the men in the room began to take drink of espresso after the snacks had disappeared. Alex thought about having another cup, but when he stood to walk over to get another cup, the bearded Russian put a hand in his way.

“I’m getting a drink,” Alex said.

“Eat your orange,” the man responded. He turned to Yassen and spoke in Russian. Yassen nodded, and the two men stood.

Alex dug his thumb into the orange to break the skin and watched the two men work together to move the tablecloth out from under the espresso machine, basket of espresso pods, and snack bowls. When the two men returned to their seats, the bearded Russian draped the tablecloth around Alex.

“Get some sleep,” Yassen said. As if Alex could sleep during this.

Later, as he drifted in and out of a restless sleep in the artificial light of the windowless room, head resting on the bearded man’s shoulder, he heard his partner speaking in a whisper.

“Thank you for keeping my son safe.”

When had his partner gotten back? Was he hurt? Alex tried to open his eyes, but it was as if he were struggling against the rapids of a particularly strong river. And when no one answered and Alex was uncertain that his partner was real, he gave up and let the current of sleep bring him back under.

The next time he surfaced close enough to wakefulness to hear the conversation, he didn’t fight to wake fully. Breathing in and out steadily, Alex listened in.

“Nothing I said made a difference,” his partner was saying. “They repeated the same questions. I think they thought I might be a spy of some sort.”

“What do you do?” Yassen asked.

“I work in banking, same as almost everyone here. You could call me a banker, but I’m more of an accountant in truth. Are you in banking as well?”

“I work as a translator.”

There was quiet again for a time that was impossible to measure.

“Whatever you said, it saved my son. I can’t repay you for that.” Alex’s partner cleared his throat when Yassen didn’t respond, at least not that Alex could hear. “What did you say?”

“I told him the world would be watching this in the news. People would be upset if a child was hurt.”

His partner swore. Then, “I almost can’t believe they listened to that, after everyone else they are hurting. And killing, I think. I wasn’t sure, but I think they shot some people that worked for the hotel.”

“They did.” The bearded Russian’s shoulder lifted slightly as he talked, and Alex felt himself adjust his head automatically. “They filmed it and showed it on the projector.”

“Everyone saw it? _My son_ saw it?”

It could have been genuine horror in his partner’s voice.

“He didn’t look.”

“The government needs to do something!” The adult agent’s voice rose on the last few words, and then he caught himself. When he resumed talking, it was in a whisper again. “If they don’t do something, who knows what will happen. We could all be dead if they wait until morning to act.”

They could be, Alex realized in a moment of clarity. What happened if the terrorists got tired of all their torture not yielding information, and decided to shoot everyone? Did anyone here have a method to defend themselves? Alex had assumed the Russians were armed, but what if they only had a weapon or two, or even worse – weren’t armed at all?

 _Wait_ , his subconscious argued back. _Was it bad if the Russians weren’t armed? Alex and Yassen weren’t on the same side._

They also weren’t _not_ on the same side right now. Assuming they both wanted to survive.

What was happening with the conversation? Alex strained to listen to the rest of the conversation. It sounded even farther away than before. He picked out just a few phrases– _unlikely to, I need to get my son out, the media will be watching, …_

Finally, in Yassen’s voice: “They will leave if…”

Alex was properly asleep before he heard the end of that final sentence.


	3. Chapter 3

Someone was shaking him by the shoulder, gently. Alex tried to ignore the movement, but it continued. Giving up, he opened his eyes.

“Hey kiddo.”

“Hey,” Alex muttered, waking up. His partner was sitting next to him, where Yassen had been before. Alex straightened up, realizing with a flush that he’d fallen asleep against the bearded Russian. He stretched his arms in front of him before yawning. His neck was sore.

His watch read 2:18 in the morning. He must not have been asleep for long.

Half-remembered thoughts jumped to mind – a recollection from earlier when he’d been drifting off. He’d been pleasantly surprised to hear something, or to hear someone’s voice. Alex’s gaze jumped to his partner. “You’re back!”

His partner tried to smile. “Yes.”

“Are you hurt?” Alex asked.

“Not badly. I’ll have some bruises.”

Alex reached up to rub his neck, looking around the room as he did so. It was much the same as two hours before, except the Frenchman at the front was laying down under the presenter’s table, three of the bankers had grouped up in the back row of chairs, and Yassen was standing near and holding a quiet conversation with the two Russians at the end of the half-circle of chairs.

Alex glanced at the bearded Russian. “Sorry.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” the man responded neutrally.

“Thank you again,” the agent said. “I can’t tell you how thankful I am that someone was keeping an eye out for him.”

That was one way of looking at it. Alex had a suspicion that Yassen’s group was keeping an eye out for him in large part because they wanted to ensure Alex didn’t cause any problems in the room, but maybe that was his past year causing him to be suspicious. Maybe Yassen hadn’t told the other men in his group how he knew Alex. In which case, what did that make rest of the Russians? Concerned contract killers out to protect any children in distress they happened upon?

“It was no problem at all.”

“Alex,” his partner said. He frowned, and put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “I heard there was a video.” When Alex didn’t respond, his partner squeezed his shoulder. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No.”

“I don’t think he watched much,” the bearded man said.

Alex’s partner peered at him. Alex didn’t add anything, and after a moment his partner’s hand dropped. “Alright,” the man said. “I’m glad you weren’t alone, in any case.”

It was certainly true that Alex hadn’t been alone. Whether that was for the better or worse, he wasn’t yet sure. At the least, if he was going to be trapped in a hotel siege with a group of possibly armed possible killers, it was helpful that, for once, the killers weren’t out to kill _him_.

His partner needed to know the situation. Alex checked that Yassen was still occupied in the hushed conversation a few meters away.

“Do you remember what I was trying to tell you before this happened?” Alex asked.

The man thought for a second. “I remember you said that- ”

“Yeah, that,” Alex interrupted. “And can you think about what you saw after I said that?”

The agent looked at him, baffled.

“I headed in a certain direction of the room,” Alex hedged, hoping against hope that his partner could remember that Yassen and his men had been about the only ones in the direction Alex was headed right before the gunmen burst in.

The bearded Russian was giving Alex an odd look, and for a moment Alex thought he’d said enough to give away the message he intended, but to the wrong man. And then Alex’s partner responded.

“You were hungry and looking for food, is that right?”

“Yeah,” Alex lied, relieved.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I really want McDonalds when we get out of here,” Alex said.

His partner laughed and exchanged a look with the bearded Russian. “Teenagers.”

Alex smiled weakly at the joke, hiding his internal joy. Perhaps it was possible that not every single MI6 agent was completely incompetent at their job.

“How’s everyone been holding up in this room in general?” his partner asked. “Any odd characters in this room?”

Oh. Oh no.

His partner had understood the message – part of it, anyway. Someone here didn’t belong. What his partner didn’t understand was the who. Alex could have kicked himself. He should never have stayed with Yassen’s group when asked – how was he going to point them out without arising at least one of the men’s suspicion?

Alex glanced around the room, thinking. “Not really,” he said at last. He met his partner’s gaze, and then, when he was confident that he had his partner’s confused attention, he looked past his partner, straight at Yassen. His partner’s eyes followed the look.

Yassen noticed.

“Are you alright?” the assassin asked, levelly.

“Yeah. Just waking up.”

Yassen’s attention lingered. “Did you get some rest?”

“Some.”

Speaking of which, why hadn’t he gotten more? Alex wasn’t complaining – he hadn’t meant to drift off. It was better to be awake before he awoke in the middle of something terrible.

“Sorry for waking you. I wanted you prepared if we needed to move, or follow a set of directions,” his partner said.

“Do you think this is almost over?”

The bearded man didn’t pause to reflect on Alex’s question before he cut in to answer. “No.”

“But the military has to be outside,” Alex pointed out.

“I’m sure they are. We’ll get out soon,” his partner responded.

“The military is not going to risk the lives of many rich men from an international conference.” This was the first time the tallest Russian had spoken in English that Alex had heard.

“Then what will happen?”

No one answered him.

“I heard you talking about it a bit ago,” Alex said. “Something about what could make them leave.”

His ‘father’ glanced around the room. “They’re looking for someone. A spy, I believe. If they find who they’re looking for I’m sure they will try to leave.”

“Unfortunate for the spy,” Yassen remarked.

“It has to be one or two men, but that is most of the groups here,” Alex’s partner said. “Clears you all, I imagine.”

“They don’t seem to suspect us.”

“No,” Alex’s partner agreed with the taller Russian.

“I’m surprised they suspected you.” Yassen nodded at Alex. “Not many would suspect a man who’d brought a teenager to a conference with him. Especially one from Britain. Western nations speak about human rights so often I find it hard to believe they’d use a child.”

Funny. Alex studied the carpet.

“I was surprised they suspected me too. Clearly, they realized it was a mistake.” His partner’s voice was colder than it had been. Impersonal.

“The spy might be British or French. Considering who they took,” Yassen said. Was the assassin trying to get a rise out of them?

“Or maybe they don’t know who they’re looking for.” Alex made sure his expression was calm when he turned back to the group of Russians at the end of the row. “Maybe there are people here they don’t even know to look for. Another group with their own agenda.”

It was impossible to tell if the other Russians besides Yassen understood what was happening. Although Alex rather suspected that at least his partner was starting to understand.

Yassen tilted his head. “Maybe.”

Or maybe the goal Yassen wanted to achieve was the same as the terrorists’ own objective, and the Russians were simply biding their time and keeping Alex out of trouble until this whole conflict was over. If the terrorists _and_ the Russians wanted only to stop some sort of deal, Yassen didn’t even have to do anything!

Alex tried to remember what the gunman had said. It was something about their government allowing a prisoner of the state to be freed… were Alex and his partner here to offer safe passage to Britain to someone? Alex hadn’t heard that anyone would be joining them on their return to the United Kingdom, but he hadn’t been told much of anything at all about this mission.

“Why are they looking for spies?” Alex asked.

At first no one responded to him, so Alex expanded his question. “They said they were looking for spies, and then something about a prisoner of the state being freed. What does that have to do with spies?”

Yassen’s face gave nothing away. Alex’s partner’s face was identical. The bearded Russian, besides Alex, took pity on him after a moment. “If someone is trying to leave the country and the government is allowing it, perhaps another government is bribing them with information. Spies could have brought that information or a passport under an assumed name that a person could leave the country with.”

“So why don’t these men want that person to leave the country?”

Alex’s questions must have been louder than he realized – or perhaps there was simply nothing else to listen to in the room. From several meters away, in the back row of chairs, the Rolex-wearing-banker laughed. “You don’t read the news, do you?”

“Not much.”

The banker snorted. “There’s a man, I don’t remember his name, a Saudi national who’s been spying for Israel and some other nations. The man is supposedly a dual citizen who was raised in one of the nations he was spying for.”

“You think it’s him?”

“That’s enough!” Alex’s partner injected. “There’s no use speculating over this.”

Alex ignored him. “How do you know it’s that man they’re after?”

The whole room was looking at him now. Appearing somewhat less frightened by the ordeal and a bit surer of himself, Rolex-wearing-banker continued. “His execution was supposed to be soon, until it wasn’t. It was all over the news. The man has his share of allies.”

“And enemies,” the bearded Russian suggested.

Alex looked to his fake father. “You read the news. Do you know his name?”

His partner gazed back helplessly. Alex could almost have apologized if he was certain that this information wouldn’t help.

Finally, the agent signed and answered. “His name’s been covered up by the press, but they’re calling him ‘Ibrahim S’.”

Alex put the pieces together in his head. Ibrahim S had helped several countries out, while betraying at least one of his in the process. Alex and his partner were at this hotel for some sort of exchange that would lead to Ibrahim S fleeing the country for safety, presumably in Britain. The terrorists outside didn’t want that. And in the backdrop of that situation, a group of Russians with at least one hired assassin were here with some goal of their own.

Alex quieted, so only those close to him would hear. “What if someone else was here to make sure that Ibrahim S didn’t leave Saudi Arabia?”

“Alex,” his partner said tersely. “That’s enough.” He grimaced in a showy way. “Teenagers. Their imagination can still run away from them sometimes. It may be the stress.”

Yassen raised an eyebrow. “If that were the case, it would certainly be a best-case scenario for this other group if the men found the spies they were looking for and left.”

His partner stilled.

“Unless they aren’t just looking for a spy,” Alex bit back. “What if they’re looking for Ibrahim as well?”

The bearded Russian shook his head slowly. “It’s speculation to say there is a third group. Even if they exist, who knows what their aims are?”

“I don’t know, but I bet they’re looking for Ibrahim. And I bet the spies at least know what he looks like.”

“Really?” Yassen asked, rivaling Alex for the lowest tone. “Are we including those spies who don’t know what they’re doing in this country?”

Alex stared. It wasn’t as if their conversation before had been particularly subtle, but there had been a degree of deniability.

His partner spoke, considerably louder than the previous conversation. “I’m sorry, I think my son is tired. Perhaps it’s for the best I give him some space, with all the stress.” He stood, hauling Alex up by the arm as he did so. “I appreciate what you’ve done for my son.”

None of the Russians moved to stop them. His partner took a tentative step forward. Ignoring the watchful eyes of the baffled, frightened, and in one case irate bankers in the room, Alex planted his feet on the ground and wrenched his arm free.

“I’m good,” Alex said. He took a deep breath as he sat back down. “I don’t think anyone in here is a spy, at least not obviously. Someone would have sold them out to the men outside by now. Right?” He looked to Yassen.

“The incentive is strong enough.”

Alex’s partner remained standing, a half a meter away.

There was a gunshot outside the room. The injured Frenchman near the door shuddered violently at the same time as Alex, before he could stop himself, flinched. The bearded Russian rested a hand against Alex’s arm, and the adult agent, still a step away, glared. “Leave him be.”

“Hush,” one of the bankers hissed.

“It’s ok,” Alex near whispered. “I’m fine, really.”

There was another shot outside before Alex finished the last word.

This time Alex didn’t react, although he couldn’t say the same for most of the bankers in the room. The adult agent and the Russians were still, all eyes on the door.

A heartbeat passed.

“Are they,” Alex started, before the Russian who could have fit in anywhere caught Alex’s eye and raised a finger to his lips.

The Frenchman and the banker who were at the front practically ran to the back wall.

Alex could almost believe that it was over when there was a third shot.

Yassen stood. He shot a suddenly calculated look at Alex’s partner before he began to walk soundlessly towards the door.

The bearded Russian stood as well, his hand on Alex’s arm suddenly pulling Alex up and out of his chair. Alex almost tripped over the tablecloth as he was brought forward into the gap between two rows of chairs.

“Down,” the bearded Russian ordered, letting go of Alex’s arm. Alex dropped into a crouch, allowing the back of a chair to obscure his view of the door – and in turn, making it more difficult for someone to spot him from the door. Behind him he heard movement from the bankers, and when he peered under the row of chairs, he could see the bankers who had clustered together now quivering on the floor.

Over his shoulder, Alex saw the chairs where a moment ago the group of Russians had been sitting. All the chairs were vacant now.

When the next shot occurred, it was closer.

Footsteps, at faint for only second before sounding much nearer, announced the terrorists’ about to appear.

Alex dropped to the floor and peaked underneath all the chair legs at the door. It opened.

A shot fired. Two men fell. A banker shrieked.

The door was slammed closed.

Either it was under control, or it wasn’t. Alex slipped out from the row of chairs for a view of the front.

Three of the terrorists had entered the room; now, one was dead, one was on the ground with foot on his chest and a gun pointed at him, and the young man who had been checking on the room earlier was in a chokehold.

Alex stood up.

Every one of the Russians except Yassen was holding a gun. Yassen, Alex suspected, would have a gun the moment he released the young man.

The young man stammered a few words in Arabic. In the same language, Yassen responded, and the young man answered quickly

“We may have a few minutes,” Yassen reported. “There are five men outside by the lifts, and the rest of the men are no longer in this area of the hotel.”

“What were these three doing?” Alex’s partner pressed down with his foot on the gunman on the floor.

“Presenting a show of force,” the tall Russian said, as if it were obvious.

“They were shooting someone in every room, until the spy revealed himself.”

Alex clenched his teeth. All this for one man?

“Didn’t seem like they expected a fight.” The bearded Russian might have been disappointed. “By now they’d be at the next room.” He fired once, and the terrorist on the ground was dead.

Alex’s eyes jumped to Yassen and the young man. “Don’t!”

Yassen met Alex’s gaze. He didn’t seem to move as the young man began to struggle for breath.

Alex froze.

Yassen dropped the man as soon as he fell unconscious. Alex rushed forward.

His partner took a few steps towards Alex, putting two hands on his shoulders and stopping him in his tracks. “He looks fine, he’ll be alright,” the adult agent assured him.

“Maybe he’ll have a headache.” The bearded Russian shrugged.

“They’re going to kill us all,” a banker against the back wall moaned.

Alex’s partner released Alex and turned around. “Since you all brought your guns, I’ll take theirs.”

“When you ask like that.” The Russian who could have been anybody held up a closed knife, and then tossed it to the agent. “You can clean up anyone who doesn’t die.”

“No.” Alex’s partner pocketed the knife. “I’m trusting you not to kill me. I will do the same.” He walked forward, Alex trailing behind, and grabbed one of the two rifles on the ground, ignoring the fallen handgun that Alex had seen in the young man’s hands earlier. None of the Russians objected.

“Can he handle one?” the bearded Russian asked, gesturing at Alex.

“No. He doesn’t get a gun,” Alex’s partner said, harshly. “He’s staying here, in the room, nowhere near the trouble.”

Yassen knelt long enough to take the handgun in his right hand and the rifle in his left. He considered Alex. “Do you want a gun?”

Alex stood, unsure. He wasn’t particularly fond of guns, in truth. He also knew he would be safer with a weapon than without.

MI6 had never offered him a gun. SCORPIA had. SCORPIA had also wanted to make Alex a killer.

Yassen observed his indecision. “You don’t have to use it.”

He would be more of a target with a gun, particularly one he wouldn’t use.

Then there was the fact that the last time Alex had held a gun around Yassen, it hadn’t ended particularly well.

“He’s a child,” his partner objected.

Alex made his decision. “Yes.”

Yassen exchanged the rifle and the handgun between his hands. “Don’t shoot unless you mean it,” he said evenly. If Yassen meant it as a warning, Alex couldn’t tell.

“I know.”

Yassen offered him the handgun, and Alex took it.

“Alex,” his partner warned. “You need to put that down.”

The tall Russian gave a short laugh. “Now isn’t the time to put down our weapons. Perhaps he can help keep us alive with it.”

Furious, Alex’s partner glared at the men. “He’s staying here, out of trouble.”

“Are you going to make him?” The bearded Russian sounded genuinely curious.

“Alex,” his partner said again, pained. “Stay here.”

He couldn’t do that. People were in danger here, and Yassen wouldn’t care about the trapped civilians. His partner would care about the civilians, probably, but they wouldn’t be his priority. And what was one man against a large terrorist group? If it came down to it, what was one man against the four Russians? Alex would be needed as backup.

“I’m coming along,” Alex said.

“Viktor,” Yassen said. The bearded Russian looked over. “Keep him with you, behind everyone else. Get him out when you can.”

The man drew close to Alex.

“Alright?” Yassen asked the agent.

His partner’s face tightened, but he nodded.

Alex nodded as well.

“My goal is to kill them and get the child out,” his partner said. “That’s it. You all want to do something else, that’s on you.” His partner shot a glare his way. “That is _it._ You see a way out, you take it. I don’t care if Viktor is with you. Try not to shoot yourself in the process.”

“Ok,” Alex agreed.

“Alright then.” The agent let out a long breath before he turned to the door. “Let’s go.”


	4. Chapter 4

With his free hand, Alex awkwardly tugged Viktor’s suit jacket off himself. As soon as the jacket fell to the floor, Viktor reached his arm in front of Alex, then pressed him against the wall. Yassen put a hand on the doorknob. The tall Russian glared at the back of the room, where the bankers were now cowering. “If any one of you make a sound or moves, I’ll shoot you myself.”

“Ivan, behind me,” Yassen commanded the Russian that could have fit in anywhere.

There was no more warning before Yassen opened the door. He stepped back against the wall, rifle pointed at the doorway, the moment the door began to swing open.

No one shot through the half-opened door. The room was silent. Alex could hear himself inhale.

Yassen took two steps away from the wall – still well away from being within full view of anyone who could be lingering outside – and fired a shot into the conference hall outside.

Alex’s ears were ringing as Yassen stepped out into the conference hall, the tall Russian and then Alex’s partner following. Too many bullets had been fired within close quarters to him today. Honestly, too many bullets had been fired around or _at_ him in his life in general.

He kept his gun pointed at the ground as Ivan sidestepped into the conference hall, waving Alex after him. Viktor trailed behind.

If the body in the middle of the room was ignored, the conference hall was empty. The men who had been held at the front of the room in the prisoner of war position before must have either been dumped back into the conference rooms off the hall, like the adult agent and the Frenchman, or taken somewhere else.

Angry voices could be heard from the front corner of the room where the doorway to the foyer was located.

Yassen was pressed against the wall halfway across the hall, still pointing the rifle in his hands in front of him. Without looking back at the rest of them, he tilted his head forward, and the Russians and agent in front of Alex stepped silently forward, hugging the wall.

Viktor crept to the side of Alex and gestured for Alex to get down. Alex turned his gun’s safety off as he kneeled. He kept the gun down. Without a clear target, he would be too concerned with shooting either his partner or the Russians on the other side of their temporary alliance. Even _with_ a clear target, Alex had no plans to intervene unless it was necessary.

Next to him, Viktor fell into a crouch and aimed his own weapon at the entrance to the conference hall.

Alex couldn’t see the signal that must have been given among the men up ahead, but, as he watched, Yassen led the men up ahead forward into view of the doorway. There was a barrage of gunfire.

None of their side fell.

Inside the foyer, at least one of the gunmen must have been left alive, as Alex’s partner and their allies kept their guns raised.

Alex crept forward, with Viktor falling into line behind him.

By the time Alex reached the entrance, the men ahead had all entered the foyer. “Stay there,” Viktor commanded behind him. Alex knelt on one knee and maneuvered himself along the ground so he could peek into the foyer.

Two of the terrorists were still alive. They had both been disarmed, and were knelt on the ground themselves. One of the men noticed Alex and spat in his direction.

Alex’s partner was standing behind the two, aiming his rifle at one of the terrorist’s back while the tall Russian held a gun to the head of the second.

Yassen was asking questions in Arabic, and translating the terrorists’ words into English. Alex listened in. “They identified a man from the government here, and are holding him out of this area.” There was another exchange of Arabic between Yassen and the two prisoners. “He won’t tell us where they went.”

There was no warning before Ivan aimed a kick at the prisoner who had been speaking.

“Again,” the tall Russian said. Ivan complied. When the prisoner rocked to one side and put a hand onto the floor to steady himself, Ivan stomped on the man’s hand. The prisoner shrieked.

Alex swallowed, feeling he should intervene. The goal was to get themselves out of a siege without dying, not torture now unarmed men for information!

His partner wasn’t so worried, judging from appearances. His gun was still aimed at the unharmed prisoner. “Ask if they have someone downstairs. If they don’t, we can send Alex to safety.”

Yassen nodded and asked the question. The responding snarl seemed unlikely to be an actual response. Ivan got close to the man and smacked him, hard. The prisoner reeled.

Some unconscious instinct told Alex to turn around; perhaps there had been a noise he hadn’t noticed himself hear.

The young man from before had clearly recovered from being knocked out. And now he was staring Alex down with a knife pressed to Viktor’s throat. Viktor was still, his grip on his firearm so tight that his fingers were turning white.

Alex stood as he raised his gun, slowly. It was point blank range – he wouldn’t miss if he fired. But he didn’t want to shoot the young man. He didn’t want Viktor’s throat slashed, either.

Through the foyer, he heard more Arabic, and then Yassen say, “They have perhaps 10 men downstairs at the door, negotiating their escape with the military. He isn’t sure – more men could be patrolling the lower floors to maintain order.”

The young man’s eyes grew wide with fright. Hearing the conversation happening around the corner, even if he couldn’t understand half of it, he must have finally realized he was now outnumbered by men who had no problem killing. Perhaps he even understood that his enemies had no problem using torture, judging by how quickly the other terrorists were revealing information.

“Release him and go hide,” Alex said hopelessly, knowing they didn’t share a language. The young man only reacted by pressing the knife further into Viktor’s throat.

The conference hall was quiet. Alex shifted his grasp on his gun ever so slightly while attempting to think of ways to improve the situation.

Viktor and the young man’s attention both shifted suddenly. Alex hadn’t heard anyone leave the foyer to enter the hall, but now he heard Yassen speaking a few soft words of Arabic behind him.

The young man shook his head.

Alex turned his head. Yassen and Ivan stood several meters back. Neither were aiming their weapons. It would take an incredible shot to shoot the young man without leading to Viktor being hurt; Yassen could probably do it, but it was clearly not the men’s first approach.

Yassen spoke in Arabic again. The young man stuttered a response. Yassen switched to Russian for one moment and Viktor’s grip on his weapon relaxed.

“Alex,” Yassen said calmly. “Put your gun on the floor behind you.”

Alex, masking his relief, followed the direction. The young man’s wary eyes followed Alex’s movements.

“Now take his knife.”

The young man’s hand was starting to shake when Alex reached forward for the knife. After Alex pried the knife free carefully, the man scampered a few steps back.

Viktor swung around with his gun in hand. “Further,” he snarled.

“Don’t shoot,” Alex muttered. “Please.”

“Why not?”

“You aren’t going to shoot because I told you to hold fire,” Yassen said. “He is going to choose a room and stay there. If he is lucky, he won’t be recognized by the men in whatever room he chooses.” Yassen spoke again to the young man. Terrified, the man swiftly disappeared into a room.

“Why aren’t we killing him?” Viktor asked mutinously once the door had closed on the man.

“Ask Alex.”

Viktor’s attention fell onto Alex. Before Alex could speak, Viktor’s stormy expression calmed. “Alright,” the Russian agreed reluctantly. “That boy lives. Now pick up your gun before we have another Rambo try to take us out single-handedly.”

After Alex retrieved his gun, Viktor ushered them both into the foyer with the rest of the men.

The interrogation was continuing. One of the men was speaking rapidly, eyes fixed at a point on the wall behind Ivan. The other prisoner seethed silently.

“The men who aren’t downstairs or patrolling the hotel went upstairs with a man they found from the Saudi government,” Yassen translated. “They were a group of five men.”

“Went how far upstairs?” the tall Russian asked.

“He isn’t sure.” After asking another question of the men, Yassen said, “Perhaps up two floors. They aren’t far. He knows little else that we don’t already know.”

“Barely enough information to go on,” Ivan said. “But no use wasting time.”

The tall Russian killed the prisoner in front of him. Alex paled. “Don’t!” he objected. Ignoring him, his partner shot the other terrorist in the back.

“They would have killed us,” Viktor placated.

“They were unarmed!”

No one except Yassen seemed to hear him. Alex stared at Yassen, knowing the man wouldn’t understand his objection. Yassen frowned, and shook his head. “These are not school games, little Alex.”

Then why had they spared the young man? Was it just because he was young?

Alex broke eye contact and looked at his floor, averting his eyes from all the bodies that now littered the foyer. They needed to continue. More people would almost certainly die before this was over. He steeled himself for more.

“Ivan, stand watch,” Yassen said. “We’ll get the vests.”

Alex looked back up in time to see Yassen and the tall Russian walk back into the conference hall.

“You both come too,” Viktor said, following.

Near the back of the conference hall, Alex saw what they were headed towards. The suitcase and briefcases the Russians had been carrying before were lying on the ground with the men’s wallets and phones. The men gathered their belongings and then opened the suitcase.

Inside were black bulletproof vests. Alex recognized them at once. Viktor pulled one out and handed it towards him. “Put it on.”

“Do you have enough?” Alex asked.

“Alex,” his partner ordered. “Don’t question him. Put it on.”

“It won’t fit under my shirt. If they see me wearing it, they’ll just aim for my head.”

“Enough arguing.” Yassen spoke as if he were used to being obeyed.

Alex pulled the vest on, remembering the familiar heaviness of bulletproof fabric.

There were three more, and by the time they were all again standing in the foyer, all of them except Alex’s partner and Yassen wore the bulky vests.

“We should go down,” Alex’s partner said.

“There is a government representative upstairs. We are going up.”

His partner shook his head. “I need to get Alex out.”

“Two of you against ten men won’t go well,” Viktor objected.

“No, I’ll need your help.”

Yassen didn’t waste time arguing. “We are going upstairs. If you want Alex to be assured safety, find a room and hide. If you’re trying to keep us from your informant, you’re free to go upstairs with us.”

“I’m joining,” Alex said. Who knew what Yassen’s men would do to the informant on their own?

“If anything happens to the child,” his partner began tersely.

“It won’t.”

After quieting and hearing no signs of life in the stairs, they opened the door and began the flight up to the fourth floor. They walked two in a row up the stairs, with Alex against the wall in the middle of the men. They stopped right before the fourth floor. Yassen stepped ahead and listened at the door. He must not have heard anything, because he opened the door and went through.

A moment later he was back, shaking his head. The terrorists weren’t on this floor – at least not obviously.

They repeated these steps on the fifth and sixth floor. It was only on their way to the seventh that the process was interrupted.

Alex hadn’t heard anything, but suddenly his partner stopped in front of him. Yassen was holding a hand up and to the side of his face – a universal sign for ‘stop’.

A door above them opened.

They waited, quiet, hearing footsteps descend. Alex heard himself trying not to breathe.

Yassen moved silently up to the top of that flight, where the stairway allowed room for a person to turn and continue upwards. Without a noise Yassen laid his rifle on the ground.

The moment the gunman rounded the steps into sight, Yassen stepped forward, grabbing the gunman’s weapon, and twisting it out of his hands. The gunman shouted. Alex’s partner fired. The gunman fell.

Someone must have heard the shot. Up above, a door opened again. A voice shouted down in Arabic.

Yassen disappeared up the stairs.

“Continue,” Ivan said from the back.

Alex’s partner led the rest of the group up the stairs, to find Yassen pushing a handgun against the head of a disarmed foe. Another rifle was in his left hand.

“You’re never going to get our nation’s secrets, no matter how many of us you kill,” the man sneered in English.

“Where are you keeping the informant?”

“They’ll kill him before you get to him!”

“Where?” Yassen asked again.

Viktor pressed a hand on Alex’s left shoulder, turning him to the wall.

There was a sudden cry. Alex closed his eyes. “This can take a short time, or a long time,” Alex’s partner said.

“Or a very long time, if we let you bleed to death,” the tall Russian added.

Another cry filled the stairwell.

“Eighth floor - they’re in the room right across from the door,” their prisoner gasped. “But they will kill you.”

“Perhaps.”

There was a final deafening shot in the confined space. When the men started moving forward again, Ivan in the back urging him forward, Alex went out of his way to avoid stepping over the body.

The terrorist had come from the eighth floor, but the tall Russian cleared the seventh floor on the way just in case.

Viktor and Ivan stayed with Alex in the stairwell when the rest of the men entered the eighth floor until Alex’s partner appeared in the doorway to wave them up.

The hotel hallway was vast and silent. Across the hall was door 829. The door handle had been shot off.

His partner grabbed Alex by the shoulder and moved him against the wall a meter from the door, behind Viktor. The rest of the Russians were likewise lined up on the other side of the wall against the door to the room.

Yassen called out in Arabic. No one responded. He spoke again. This time there was a gruff reply, muffled through the door.

Alex glanced back across the hall at the lifts and the stairwell entrance. He aimed his gun in their direction. Better to be prepared if someone had the idea to sneak up on them while they were distracted.

Yassen stepped away from the wall and fired at the door, twice. He got back against the wall and then extended his foot to tap on the door.

The door began to swing open until it was met with a barrage of shots from inside the room.

The Russians and the terrorists in the room exchanged fire this way three times – a man would step off the wall just long enough to fire at the door and then return to the wall, and the men inside would fire through the door, their shots that made it through the door hitting the back wall inside the stairwell.

Finally, there was a shout from inside the room.

“They say they’re surrendering,” Yassen said, before speaking back to them.

The door opened.

Several guns were pushed out of the room into the hallway floor.

Yassen stepped off the wall and fired twice.

There were two soft thuds from the inside of the room.

When Yassen emerged from the room he was with an unarmed, unmasked man that Alex, with a start, recognized. He had seen that man that afternoon! Or, considering it was technically now early morning, he had seen that man yesterday afternoon. It was the strict looking Saudi man who had been working on a laptop in the room his partner had been in right before this whole affair had begun.

The man recognized his partner at once.

“You are not here to kill me!” the man declared, relieved.

“Not yet, anyway,” the tall Russian said.

“Who are you?” Alex asked. The man looked at him, astonished, and then answered.

“You can call me Abdul. I am a representative of the government and the prince.”

Alex’s partner shook his head. “No more! We can talk after this is over.”

“What were you doing here?” Yassen asked. When Abdul didn’t respond, Yassen raised his gun. “I don’t like to repeat myself.”

Abdul took a step back. “When the terms were agreed, I was going to tell the prince to come down,” he stammered. “It was all approved! The paperwork just needed to be signed.”

His partner grimaced. Alex’s eyes widened. The prince was here? So this wasn’t all about the British spies – the terrorists had come here expecting to find spies _and_ the prince that was a traitor to their country.

“He’s in the hotel,” Yassen observed. “Where in the hotel?”

Abdul grimaced. “I didn’t tell them, and I won’t tell you. Beat me or shoot me if you like, but I’m only speaking to the government or him.” He looked to Alex’s partner.

Yassen lowered his gun. “That can be arranged.” He glanced at Viktor, and then his eyes fell on Alex.

Alex had no time to wonder about the look. Suddenly, his right arm was grabbed by the wrist and pulled up so that Alex’s gun was aimed only at the wall. Viktor’s other hand grabbed Alex by the left arm and wrapped it over Alex’s chest. Alex writhed, trying to get free of the arm that was now wrapped around him, holding him restrained.

Ivan stepped forward and yanked the gun out of his hand.

“I’m not going to point a gun at Alex’s head, but he is going to come with us,” Yassen said levelly.

Alex’s partner pointed his weapon at Yassen. “Go to hell.”

“If you shoot any one of us, you’ll be dead before all of us are. And we will still have your spy.”

The tall Russian pressed the upwards arrow button in the wall to call the lift.

“What do you want?”

“You know who I want. The prince.” Yassen pulled a flip-phone out of his suit pocket. “When you have him, call the number named Ivan, or speed dial two. We’ll be close. You will get Alex back at our next meeting, provided there are no problems.”

The agent shook his head, contempt clear in his features. “The United Kingdom doesn’t barter with terrorists. For all I know, you represent a terror group yourself.”

“It’s a good line,” Yassen said. “Principled. Would you like to repeat it to your little spy?”

His partner swore.

Alex kicked back at Viktor, struggling to put force into the movement. Viktor’s grips on his wrists remained steady, and Alex’s right arm was forced up across his chest as well. The bear hug tightened. “Steady,” the bearded Russian murmured in Alex’s ear.

The rest of the Russians, Yassen included, paid Alex’s futile attempt to fight little mind. Yassen stayed focused on Alex’s partner. “Between the armed group downstairs and the military outside, I doubt we have much time. We will stay here for only a short while.”

“After that?” Alex’s partner spat.

“I hope we won’t get to that point.”

The tall Russian and Viktor began to move backwards, Viktor dragging Alex with him.

“I won’t tell you where he is,” Abdul said. “I don’t even know if he’s still there.”

Yassen dropped the phone to the ground when no one took it.

Behind him, Alex heard the beep of the lift’s arrival on their floor, followed by the restrained wheeze of its doors sliding open. He was dragged backwards into it.

“Perhaps you should check.” Yassen, gun now aimed at the adult agent, retreated to the rest of the Russians. “And quickly.”

“I’ll kill you if you hurt him,” his partner promised.

Inside the lift Ivan pressed the button for their destination. The doors began to close.

“Fortieth floor,” Alex yelled, before Viktor released his right wrist to clamp a hand over his mouth.

The doors closed.

The lift began to ascend. Alex was trapped, alone, with the Russians.

So much for temporary allies.


	5. Chapter 5

Alex struggled against the restraints of Viktor’s arms as best he could. His free hand attempted to pry the man’s arm from his chest. Viktor was unbothered. If only Alex’s nails weren’t chewed down, he could have dug his fingers into the man’s forearm. Alex considered biting the hand over his mouth. Given the circumstances, it wouldn’t have been among his best ideas.

“Will you be still?” Viktor chided.

Glaring venomously at Yassen’s back, Alex allowed his free arm to drop to his side. “And quiet?” the Russian pressed. Alex nodded as much as the hand clamped on his mouth allowed.

Viktor released him.

Yassen continued to face the doors of the lift, gun in one hand. He spoke calmly. “Our room is five floors down from our destination. When we get out, you will follow me down the stairs. Ivan and Viktor will be behind you. Don’t become a problem.”

“You won’t even point a gun at me,” Alex snarled. “Why would I listen to you?”

The tall Russian interjected. “ _I_ will point a gun at you if you fight.”

“That won’t be necessary. Alex, you are outmanned. You do not have a weapon. _Do not_ disobey.”

“We were on the same side.” Alex clenched his fists.

“Briefly. Now we are not.”

Alex restrained himself from hurling insults at the men around him as the lift door opened on the fortieth floor. Exactly as Yassen had said, Yassen and the tall Russian led the way down the stairs with Viktor and Ivan following behind. Yassen led them out into the hallway of the 35th floor. Without stopping, he turned to the left and continued walking, ignoring the hall branching off that they passed.

Up ahead, a door to one of the rooms opened a crack and Alex saw a set of eyes peering at them for a split second before the observer noticed their guns and slammed the door closed once again. Alex wondered how many people were cowering inside rooms at that moment, unsure of what exactly was happening outside their rooms in the rest of the hotel. Alex paused for a second, lost in the thought, and one of the men behind him pushed him forward. “Keep walking,” Ivan said.

Yassen reached their destination: a room towards the end of the hall. He took a room key out of his pocket and pressed the card above the doorhandle. A small green light flashed above the handle. Yassen entered the room, followed by the tall Russian. Reluctantly, Alex trailed behind.

The Russians were never planning to stay here for longer than a few hours, it was immediately obvious. That, or they were but all had their own rooms – considering they had only brought the one suitcase, Alex suspected it was more likely the former. The room was an elaborately furnished and large space, same as Alex’s own, but unlike the suite Alex had shared with his partner, this was a one-bedroom room with only one queen bed. Alex imagined this room had been rented only as a cover, or perhaps a place for the group to rest briefly before traveling back to the airport after they had accomplished their goal at the conference. Or so things would have gone without the hostage situation that had unfolded.

Alex perched on the edge of the bed and dug his fists into the sheets. Ivan sat between the foot board and Alex. “You did well downstairs,” the Russian said.

“Thanks,” Alex replied, injecting as much sarcasm into his response as he could muster.

On the other end of the room was a sitting area composed of a loveseat and an armchair around a large television. Yassen sat down in the armchair after turning the television on to the local news. The channel was in Arabic, but Alex recognized the view of the hotel from the sky.

The Russians began to converse in Russian around Alex until Viktor asked, in English, “What is the news saying?” Alex cast a look at the man. The only reason to switch to English was to keep Alex in the loop. Yassen had clearly come to the same conclusion, as he glanced at Alex before replying in Russian.

Alex ignored the men talking around him. They weren’t all on the same side anymore; there was no use in pretending they were. All the better if the Russians wanted to keep Alex out of the conversation as well.

Unless the conversation was about him.

At the next break in the conversation, Alex interjected. “What are you going to do if my partner doesn’t get me?” he asked boldly. 

All four of the men looked at him. Only Viktor appeared uncomfortable.

“No one is going to do anything to you,” Yassen said evenly. “Your partner is going to get the prince to us, and you will go home.”

Viktor took the remaining spot on the side of the bed. The man reached out to Alex and kindly ruffled his hair. “It’s ok. You’re much safer with us than you might think.”

“I’m not worried about myself,” Alex said. And, for the most part, he wasn’t. It seemed a stretch that someone – even Yassen Gregorovich and men that worked with him – would spend their time shielding a person from the worst of a situation only to turn around and shoot them. And Yassen and Alex had their own history, besides. “I’m worried you’re all going to shoot and kill each other in a standoff.”

“That won’t happen. We’re good at de-escalating conflict,” Viktor assured.

“I’ve seen how you de-escalate conflict,” Alex rebuffed, unimpressed. “A lot of people died.”

Ivan shrugged. “They deserved it.”

“Does the prince deserve it?” By now, Alex assumed, they were all on the same page. Yassen and his men must have been paid quite a lot of money to kill the prince, otherwise known as Ibrahim S., before he could reveal more secrets to the United Kingdom. “Or did someone tell you he deserved to be killed, right before they paid you?”

Viktor only laughed. When Alex glared, the man chuckled and looked away. He switched to Russian for a moment, and Yassen replied with a single word.

Seeing Alex’s undisguised annoyance, Viktor translated. “I said, you are, what’s the word in English, stubborn?”

“Strong-willed,” Yassen supplied, still watching the news.

“Stubborn might work as well,” the tall Russian said.

“That’s Vova’s way of saying he’s fond of you.” Viktor clapped Alex on the back, and then stood and stretched. “We’ll need to take the vests off to blend in with all the guests when we leave.”

Alex was happy enough to follow that direction. Bulletproof vests were heavy. He took his off wordlessly. Yassen looked over. “Keep it on.”

“See many hotel guests wearing bulletproof vests, do you?” Alex asked. “Or are you planning to shoot me for show if my partner doesn’t let you murder the prince?”

“You can wear one of our jackets over it,” Viktor offered. “We left mine downstairs, but Ivan’s will fit you.”

“I’ll put it on when we leave.”

“Put it back on now. We could need to go at any moment.” Yassen looked around the room. “Weapons away.”

While the men around Alex disappeared their handguns into holsters, Yassen walked to a window and stared down at Riyadh below.

Curiosity got the better of Alex. Holding off on the sarcasm for the moment, Alex asked, “Can you see the military downstairs?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think will happen?”

“Everyone will be safe. We will leave unharmed, and return you to your partner momentarily,” Viktor said.

Alex shook his head. “I meant for the armed men downstairs. Will they all be shot?”

“If they are, it will be because they are down half their men,” the tall Russian said. “Otherwise, they were near-thirty strong, and they have a hotel of hostages. They would have entered here thinking they would all leave, perhaps with you and your partner as well as the prince in tow.”

Alex felt a sense of unease. Once again, he had the impression that this was a lot of effort to go to for one man. What secrets had the prince sold that were so important? And regardless, Ibrahim S. had already told the Saudi’s secrets! Did the terrorists think killing him would erase the knowledge from the United Kingdom’s computers?

“What about that young man?” Alex asked.

Viktor appeared ready to utter a rude word, but he stopped and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“He will likely be arrested,” Yassen said. “I don’t see him being killed when unarmed, although perhaps he will die in prison.”

“Why didn’t you kill him?” Alex blurted out. Viktor had wanted to, at least for a moment. And Yassen had killed two of the men after they’d surrendered. There was no reason not to kill the young man if the aim of the Russians had been to get rid of as many potential threats as possible.

“Why would I?” Yassen asked. He sounded genuinely curious.

“You killed everyone else.”

Yassen shrugged. “The others were a threat. He was afraid. He wouldn’t have hurt us so long as he had an out.” Yassen must have sensed Alex’s uncertainty, because he expanded his answer. “Some people are killers. Others will fire a gun only when their life is in danger. And perhaps a few won’t fire even to protect their life. He was the second.”

“Which one am I?” Alex asked, before his head could catch up with his mouth.

Ivan shot a look at Viktor, and the tall Russian frowned. Yassen, however, only shrugged. Alex couldn’t read his face. “I am still alive. I think your answer is in that fact.”

Had Yassen seen that Alex wasn’t a killer when they were in the south of France? If that was the case, why had he sent Alex to SCORPIA?

Alex shook away the thoughts. This wasn’t the time to interrogate Yassen on the words he’d chosen when he must have thought he was dying. And Yassen wasn’t even with SCORPIA anymore; his opinion of the organization must have changed already in the past months.

A phone rang.

Next to Alex, Ivan pulled a phone out of his pocket. Yassen crossed the room to take it, and then he flipped it open, put it on speaker, and answered.

“You have the prince?” Yassen asked.

Alex could almost hear his partner’s rage through the speaker. “I’ll answer that when I know Alex is alive.”

Yassen held out the phone. “Say hello.”

Alex scowled. “Hi,” he muttered.

“Are you hurt?” his partner asked.

“No.”

“The prince?” Yassen asked, holding the phone close to himself once again.

“I have him.”

“Good,” Yassen said. “There is a mall close to the hotel, two blocks down the street. Do you know it?”

“I can find it.”

“We will be near the second-floor food court. Enter the food court and sit next to the wall. Call me again when you’re there.”

“What time?” Alex’s partner asked.

Yassen crossed to the window and looked down. Alex looked through the window at the sky. Outside, the sun was starting to rise.

“This situation will end soon, but it will take time for the hotel to be evacuated. We will meet at noon. If anyone is waiting beside the two of you, I expect you can imagine a suitable consequence.” Yassen hung up before waiting for a response.

“How soon is soon?” Alex asked.

“An hour, perhaps.”

“An hour until we’re free or until the gunmen are dead or captured?”

“An hour until they can begin to evacuate the hotel,” Yassen replied.

Alex frowned. “You know, I could really go for something to eat. Are you planning to feed me at the food court? And do they have pizza?”

“If you’re still hungry when we get there, maybe,” Viktor hedged. Yassen, for his part, only shook his head.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Alex said. He sighed and stared at the floor. What could he do to save the prince’s life without getting himself hurt?

Thirty-four minutes later the news began reporting that the hotel had been breached by military personnel. Yassen translated the news coverage into English for the room while the men hid their bulletproof vests in the closet. Alex, as he’d been told, kept his vest on and put Ivan’s suit jacket on over it.

It took three hours after that for the military to get to their floor and interview them. Alex had gone through two Cokes from the hotel room’s mini fridge by then, and he’d learned quite a lot more about Viktor’s time serving for the Russian military than he felt he had needed to know. Alex even knew a few swears in Russian by the time of their supposed rescue, to the evident amusement of the tall Russian. Even Yassen had seemed to suppress a smirk when Alex asked to learn the words to ‘traitorous Russian bastards’ and had promptly cursed his captors out with his newfound arsenal of Russian profanities.

The interview with the military was short. It comprised of only a few minutes of assuring the Saudi’s that they had spent the entirety of the siege locked in that hotel room, and then they were left alone again, again leaving Alex to the mercy of Viktor’s stories. Not even an hour after, the military knocked on their door to tell them they were free to leave.

Unfortunately, despite all the time he’d spent sitting and trying to daydream through Viktor’s spiels, Alex was no closer to figuring out how to save the prince’s life. Yassen must have sensed that Alex was still ready to put up a fight the moment he had an opportunity, because the man kept an iron grip on Alex’s forearm the entire time their group was walking downstairs, following the direction of the military personnel stationed through the hotel.

The hotel halls were crowded with others trying to leave the hotel at the same time as they were. With all the people waiting for the lifts, it took half an hour just to leave their floor. They would have taken the stairs, but military personnel stood in doorway, turning the hotel guests towards the lifts instead. Alex tried to pretend it was for another reason other than the bodies they’d left haphazardly splayed in the stairwell.

News crews and reporters were mingling with the military in the street outside the hotel. Alex was contemplating trying to break away in view of a camera when Yassen spotted the direction he was looking.

“I would prefer not to threaten you,” Yassen said calmly. “Ivan, hold his other arm.”

Alex glowered. “You can’t do anything if the international media is watching you do it.”

“No, perhaps not then,” Yassen agreed. “But say I catch you, and take you away from the reporters. Will the international media still become involved?”

By the time they’d arrived at the mall, it was as if the overnight hostage situation at the hotel had never occurred. Families and groups of men, almost all the men in thobes and women in abayas, walked around holding shopping bags from international brands that Alex would see in London as well as here in Riyadh. The atmosphere was relaxed, except for those walking by any of the heavily armed groups of police that patrolled the mall.

“I think there’s time for pizza,” Alex suggested, only half asking in the hopes that one of the Russians would leave the group to fetch food. The half of him that genuinely wanted food was starving.

Viktor laughed. “I can get one if he’ll stop asking. I wouldn’t mind a pizza myself.”

To Alex’s surprise, Yassen didn’t argue. “We’ll be sitting in the middle of the room.”

“And get enough water for everyone,” Ivan said.

Yassen and Ivan only released Alex’s arms when they were at the table, in the middle of a bustling and massive food court.

“Sit down,” Yassen said. He was surveying the room, but Alex knew the man would grab him – and quickly – if he attempted to make a run for it.

Alex sat down next to Ivan. The tall man took a seat across from him. Alex looked around the room and found the police he was looking for. Taking a deep breath, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the knife he’d taken from the young man. Before anyone reacted, Alex flipped it open and lowered it to right above Ivan’s arm.

Ivan froze. Yassen, already standing with incredibly stillness, only tilted his head to face Alex when he noticed the movement. “And what do you intend to do with that?”

“I’m going to stab him in the arm if you don’t let me walk out of here,” Alex said. “And if you don’t let me walk out, then the police will come over here and arrest me, and you still won’t have a prisoner.”

Ivan paled. Yassen frowned. “What do you know about life in a Saudi prison?” he asked. “I don’t imagine it’s a comfortable one.”

“MI6 will get me out.”

“After their deal with the Saudi government to get their prince out went so poorly, it’s a risk. Perhaps more importantly, it’s a risk that you will not hit a vein. Are you prepared to kill a man today?” Yassen raised an eyebrow.

Alex took a deep breath. “I’m not prepared to let you kill a man,” he said steadily.

Yassen shook his head. “We discussed this already, I think. You aren’t going to hurt him. Put it down.”

Alex stood, slowly, knife still pointed down at Ivan’s arm. Yassen put his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Let go,” he said softly. Alex hesitated.

Ivan moved his arm out from under the knife. When it became clear Alex wasn’t going to move, Ivan wrenched the knife away from him by the handle.

Scanning the crowds around them, Alex didn’t notice anyone looking their way. Not even the police.

“Sit down,” Yassen repeated.

Alex sat.

The pizza was tasteless – or maybe it was the worry in Alex’s stomach – but at least he was no longer hungry by the end. Alex studied the tables by the wall, looking for a familiar face.

“There,” the tall Russian said, nodding at the far corner of the court. Alex’s eyes jumped in direction indicated. His partner was walking with a man in a thobe, holding a briefcase. Was that the prince?

His partner spotted him around only seconds later. His partner started to walk in towards them. None of the Russians objected.

“Are you alright, Alex?” his partner asked the moment he was at the table.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

His partner looked at the remains of the pizza on the table. “They’ve fed you?”

“We will release the boy after we talk to the prince,” Yassen said, speaking over the last question.

“Sure, after you _talk_ to the prince,” his partner said bitterly. “It won’t happen. The prince agreed to come here, not to leave and be executed. He doesn’t understand why we’re here, of course, and he’s not going to stay just because I asked him to stay.”

“Perhaps you just ask him to come over here and talk,” Yassen said. “Your little spy depends on it.”

Alex looked across the room. With a start, he realized the prince was approaching already. The prince was quite an ordinary man, to look at him. Alex would never have suspected that an international outrage was currently occurring because of him. No wonder he had been such an effective secret seller.

Ivan put a hand on Alex’s arm, the same place as he’d been holding it earlier. Alex grimaced. The hold was tight enough that there would be a bruise later, even if it was a faint one.

The prince arrived at their table.

“Hello,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Representatives,” Yassen said. “You know who we’re representing. You have something for us.”

The prince’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “Of course. And how would I verify that you are who you claim?”

Alex’s partner looked on, clearly confused.

Yassen said something in Arabic. The prince nodded again. He put the briefcase on the table, on the portion not covered with plates of pizza, and opened it. Inside was a binder. He took it out and handed it to Yassen. “I expect the rest of my money will be in my accounts soon.”

“Wait,” Alex’s partner objected. He seemed to have grasped the situation before Alex. “You can’t sell this to the Russians – you made a deal with us!”

The prince frowned. “Are you not a part of this? Why did you bring me here?”

Comprehension dawned on Alex. “Wait,” Alex said, hushed. “You’re not going to kill him?”

The prince recoiled. “What?”

“No one ever said that was happening,” the tall Russian objected, looking around to see if anyone was listening in.

His partner snarled at the prince. “You can’t make a deal with one country and then turn around and court another!”

Alex turned to Yassen. “You let me think that!”

“You wouldn’t have believed whatever I told you,” Yassen said, unmoved.

“Fine!” Alex’s partner cut in. “This mess will be dealt with at home. If it’s all settled, Alex is going to leave with us now.”

Yassen and the other Russians stood, Yassen holding the binder. “Alex is going to walk with us to the end of the mall. Don’t let us see you following. When we leave, Alex will return.”

“It’s ok,” Alex reassured his partner. “I’ll be back here soon.”

His partner was too busy glaring at the prince to argue.

Walking across the mall, arm still held tightly by Ivan, Alex said, “You could have at least tried to tell me the truth.”

Yassen didn’t argue. “We could have.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I already mentioned, you would not believe me. Besides that, if something had gone wrong, you would have known information you did not need to know.”

“Information is power, is that it?” Alex mocked.

“You are joking, but perhaps,” Viktor said.

And then they were at the end of the mall, just around the corner from the back set of stairs. Ivan let go of Alex’s arm.

“Time to go home,” Yassen said.

“Alex, it was nice to meet you,” Viktor said. Ivan nodded, a slight scowl on his face. The tall man wasn’t even looking at Alex, but at the crowd.

Alex shrugged. He wasn’t sure he could say the same, after the sting of the Russians betrayal. He also wasn’t sure that he was unhappy to have met the men. Maybe if they had met in better circumstances the opportunity for betrayal never would have arisen, and Alex could stick with his second impression of the Russians – probably dangerous, but not all bad. The problem with being on opposite sides, however, was that the job interfered with temporary allyships. He turned to Yassen. “Can I go now?”

“It was good to see you’ve been well,” Yassen told him. “Reach out if you need anything.”

“I don’t know how to find you,” Alex pointed out. It wasn’t every day that the assassin could be spotted crossing a conference hall while Alex was spying in the same location, after all!

“That can change.”

“Alright,” Alex said, tone not quite offering a challenge.

“Alright,” Yassen agreed. “Go to your partner now. He’s worried.”

Alex turned to cross the mall. “Stay safe,” Viktor said as he left.

A few stores away, Alex turned around to check for the Russians. Except for Yassen, the men were already gone. Alex waved. Yassen inclined his head, and then turned and disappeared among the crowds.

Mrs. Jones had promised a vacation, and this hadn’t quite turned out to be that. At least, Alex reflected, he hadn’t been alone this mission. And who knew – maybe, after he’d finally gotten home and seen if Yassen would follow through on contacting him, he’d find out answers about his dad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading! My goal with this story was to mimic the tone of a real Alex Rider short story – including the ending kind of linking in themes from completely different books (in this case, pursuing knowledge about John Rider). Hopefully this story resembled the plot of an actual mission at least a little, and hopefully you enjoyed.


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